tangled (not good at parting)
by Misila
Summary: It's over. It has to. (It's not.) Sequel to Mafia Boy.
1. Chapter 1

This fic is a sequel to _Mafia Boy._

* * *

 _ **tangled (not good at parting)**_

.

 _ **1**_

.

She isn't drunk.

Unlike most her colleagues, alcohol doesn't affect her easily. She is usually the one who has to take care of her friends after parties or when they go out; it makes her feel like a babysitter sometimes, but God knows what those lightweights would do without her.

Two glasses of wine have hardly any effect on her.

Yet Yosano feels a burning pain in her stomach, an itchy heat that reaches all the way up to her throat. Because she isn't used to drinking wine –she doesn't even _like_ it–, she supposes.

A shiver runs down her spine when a new sip wets her swelled up lips. She sets the glass on the windowsill, lets her gaze wander over the city lights. The wind brings silence through the window, but she knows better than to let the quietness fool her.

Yokohama is alive at night, perhaps even more than during daytime if one knows where to look; her jaw tenses when she wonders whether any of the lights hurting her eyes is shedding is wrapping him up in its warmth too.

Trembling fingers grab the glass again, bring its edge to her mouth. Yet she doesn't tilt it enough for the red liquid to fall in her mouth. Her hand shakes as she puts the glass down again; her gaze falls, the brim of a hat she should have gotten rid of weeks ago blocking the lights.

As she closes her eyes, a silent realisation sinks in, the warm fabric over her head growing so heavy she fears it'll crush her. Yet at the same time it feels like it's going to fly away, so her free hand reaches for the hat. But not even her firm grip on the brim stops something about it from slipping between her fingers, a fluid that doesn't really exist but she knows is dark soiling her fingers and failing on the floor, where she will never be able to recover it again.

And then she opens her eyes. Her hand is clean and that hat still on her head.

Yosano is suddenly tempted to break the glass on her forehead.

What is she doing, acting like a heartbroken teenager? She isn't even _heartbroken_ , because her heart was never between her legs, because the only feeling she ever let slip between Chuuya and her was complicity so that nobody found out.

 _For nothing, because they did._

But Yosano doesn't miss Chuuya. She doesn't think about his eyes or the way his locks keep stubbornly falling on his face no matter how many times she pushes them off. When she closes her eyes, it's not his lopsided grin what she sees engraved behind her lids.

She isn't in _love_. She is old enough to tell her own feelings apart.

Rather, she misses his chuckle against her skin, the tingling trail of kisses and bites his lips left in their wake. She yearns for the almost painful force pushing them together, the noises he made in her ear as those annoying red locks tickled her neck. The way he slid apologetic fingers against her flourishing little bruises at sunrise, when light bathed her skin.

Yosano doesn't miss Chuuya. She barely knows him enough to find something to get attached to.

And yet, as she slouches on the windowsill, she can't stop longing for those nights that won't come back.

.

Chuuya is out of Yokohama when he's summoned for a Five Executives meeting.

He is in a small village, getting rid of a small organisation whose leader thought they could outsmart the Port Mafia and deceive them without facing the consequences. He picks up right after sinking his knife down a woman's back, can't keep an annoyed expression out of his face when Mori's deceitfully sweet voice comes from the speaker. He has told his colleagues he doesn't like being interrupted during a mission countless times; yet he knows can't snap at his superior.

So he grits his teeth, assures Mori he'll be in Yokohama in a few hours and leaves his subordinates by themselves, confident enough that they can handle the situation without his help from now on. At dawn he is back at the Mafia headquarters, so tired he could fall asleep on his feet but knowing he can't ditch work.

Kouyou throws a disapproving glance at him as soon as he steps into the meeting room, but Chuuya doesn't particularly care about his bloodstained clothes right now. He practically falls on his chair, finding his eyelids heavier with every blink as he waits for the other Executives to arrive.

He flinches when the door is closed with excessive force, glances around in confusion until he spots Mori walking to his seat.

"Dan-kun is in England, but since everybody else is here, we can start."

Chuuya frowns. Looks around again, gaze stopping for a moment on the empty chair in front of him.

"Aren't we waiting for Kobayashi-san?"

Mori raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Didn't Kouyou-kun tell you? He's actually the reason we're having this meeting," he explains when Chuuya fails to show any sign of acknowledgement.

"Did something happen?"

"His health has worsened, yet again," Kouyou interjects. She doesn't meet Chuuya's bewildered, now painfully awake gaze.

Because knowing his colleague has been ill for months, since before they found out his right-hand man had been giving him a slow-acting poison, is one thing, and Chuuya is aware it's serious; but Kouyou's voice is thick with something that isn't the worry that has been laced to her tone whenever she talked about the matter throughout the last months.

It's resignation, and Chuuya doesn't like it in the very least.

"It pains me to say it," Mori adds, "but I don't think he'll last longer than two weeks."

Chuuya grits his teeth. Nobody in that room really believes Mori is remotely sorry for Kobayashi.

"Then," he starts, uncertain about whether he wants to be right, "we've been summoned here to…"

"So we talk about his successor," Kouyou interrupts him.

"If we wait until he's gone it'll be a chaos," Mori agrees, nodding slightly. "I don't want the mess from four years ago to repeat."

Under the table, Chuuya's hands are closed into fists. "He's not dead yet," he hisses.

There is a tense pause as Mori smiles softly.

"While I find your faith in Kobayashi-kun nothing short of admirable, miracles are too rare to be relied on."

 _A miracle_.

A shudder shakes Chuuya's whole being. He thinks about a woman he once fought against, then about the same woman melting in his arms and laughing against his skin, about the stupid nickname pronounced in hundreds different ways in grey hotel rooms where nothing but them mattered.

And then he thinks about Dazai's warning and the loose threads of a story he both wants to know and isn't really interested in.

Chuuya parts his lips, then presses them together.

"What if…" escapes between them, though, attracting everyone's glances.

"Yes, Chuuya-kun?" Mori's smile vanishes, replaced by an interested expression.

Chuuya closes his eyes. Nobody in the Mafia knows anything about them; only Dazai and the poor soul that has to be his partner these days, and the Armed Detective Agency hardly counts as a threat for him.

Plus, she'll be safe; Mori wouldn't wipe such a useful ability user out so quickly.

And Chuuya doesn't want Kobayashi to die, not after how hard he has fought for months.

"What if Kobayashi-san gets better?" he finally forces out of his mouth.

Mori's eyes widen in surprise.

"How?" Kouyou mutters.

Chuuya stands up, finally making up his mind. "Boss, I ask for a week. If Kobayashi isn't better by then, then––"

Something cold falls on Chuuya's stomach when Mori smirks, painful enough to stop him from talking anymore.

"You seem to have an idea, Chuuya-kun." The Boss stands up too. "Now I'm curious…" Chuuya fights the need to look away from those dark eyes. "But then it wouldn't be fun, would it? I'll let you give it a try." Chuuya forces himself to nod. "We'll hold another meeting next week, then, to discuss the two best candidates to become Executives."

Chuuya barely flinches when Kouyou's fist slams on the table. He stares at Mori, confused until realisation slowly dawns on him.

"Two." he repeats, mouth dry.

Mori's smile is sickeningly sweet when he smooths his shirt out. "I don't like wasting my time, Chuuya-kun. If your idea is fruitless, it will mean it was a mistake… And I don't like making mistakes once, let alone twice. What do you say?"

Chuuya bites the inside of his cheeks. He is nowhere near sure he'll be able to convince her, let alone to keep Mori as far from the matter as possible. Hell, he doesn't even know whether her ability will be enough.

"Alright."

Mori claps his hands together. "Wonderful! I can't wait to know what makes you so confident."

Chuuya's eyes widen. An exhaustion that has nothing to do with his hectic night clings to his body, drags him down with more force than he can counteract with his ability. He swallows down, his throat painfully dry.

 _No_.

"Sure."

Even though his voice doesn't falter, Chuuya feels oddly weak as he drags his feet out of the room.

"Is everything alright, Chuuya?" Kouyou asks quietly. "You look pale."

There is something bitter in his mouth when Chuuya nods, not minding Kouyou doesn't believe his obvious lie.

He only cares about one thing in this moment.

 _He knows_.

.

It's past midnight when she gets back home, dress creased and high heels heavy in her hand. Red lipstick stains her neck and shoulders and a floral scent clings to her clothes, fresh yet strangely calming.

Not switching the lights on, Yosano lets her shoes at the entrance and drags her feet towards her bedroom, a lazy, satisfied smile still on her lips. It won't last –lately nothing ever does– but right now she allows herself to bask in the fresh memory of the hands tickling down her sides, in the long, red hair tangled with her fingers just an hour ago.

She notices something is off before stepping into the bedroom, though. Her nose wrinkles when she senses a new smell, bitter yet strangely pleasant.

Yosano grabs the hideous vase she only has to keep her mother happy, holds her breathing as she leans her head on the doorframe, soon locating the intruder inside. She breathes out slowly, opens the door in one quick move and storms in.

It's too dark to aim, but the vase breaks against the wall, pretty close to the dark silhouette that crouches down to dodge it.

"Wa––"

Yosano reaches for her purse to grab a small knife as the figure dashes towards her, letting out a pained grunt when she's pinned against the wall; she raises her hand, scrapes the stranger as she gathers momentum to slice a white, white throat embellished with a black choker. Strong fingers curl around her wrist before she can get rid of her attacker, though.

Her arm trembles, even though it hasn't been up for too long, too heavy to keep that position; Yosano still fights against that invisible force, against a certainty that should mean _nothing_ , manages to move her hand until the knife is pressed against that throat, teeth gritted as both her hand and the stranger's tremble out of exertion.

"Would you mind," a familiar voice hisses, "not trying to kill me even before I talk to you?"

Yosano narrows her eyes.

"Would you mind not making my arm fall off?"

Chuuya chuckles, raises his head to look at her. In the dim room Yosano can barely discern his blue eyes, but she does see the blood trickling down his cheek from where she has just cut him.

"Let go of the knife."

"Let go of me."

The hand that isn't grabbing Yosano's wrist is on her shoulder, pressing her with too much force against the wall.

A sigh leaves Chuuya's lips. "On the count of three?"

"Sounds fair." And Yosano really hopes he keeps his promise, because her arm alone feels heavier than the rest of her body. "One?"

"Two…"

"Three."

They say it at the same time, Chuuya letting go of her wrist and taking a couple steps back and Yosano uncurling her fingers as air gets easily into her lungs again. The knife jingles on the floor as they stare at each other cautiously. It's strange, Yosano thinks, how different everything is now; the last time she saw Chuuya they were desperate to get rid of the air between them, while now…

 _Now it's the way it should be_.

Chuuya breaks the silence first.

"So? Did you have fun?" Yosano knows he's talking about the lipstick smeared all over her shoulders, and part of her curses Chuuya's sharp night vision.

"I had a good time," she admits, shrugging. "Why are you in my house?"

Chuuya raises his arms. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not here to get rid of you or anything. It's true!" he insists when Yosano raises a sceptic eyebrow. "I could have killed you five times since you set a foot inside the building, anyway."

"I guess that's why you're the one bleeding, then," Yosano teases back.

"I'm not here to hurt you."

"Your methods beg to differ, Mafia Boy."

Chuuya huffs, obviously annoyed. "Anyway, can I talk to you?"

After switching the light on, Yosano sits on the chair of her desk, facing Chuuya, who has made himself comfortable on her bed and presses a handkerchief to his bleeding wound, his hat laying next to him. She purposefully ignores the mess the vase has been reduced to; she'll worry about her mother's reaction later.

"So?" Yosano prompts.

Chuuya exhales slowly.

"Your ability allows you to heal anything," he starts. Yosano raises an eyebrow, but keeps quiet. "Poisoning too?"

"As long as it's lethal, yes," she confirms.

Chuuya's expression lightens up. "That's good. Great." He toys with the brim of his hat. "Because I need your help."

"Don't worry, that cut is not even infected."

"It's not for me." Chuuya bites his lower lip. "An Executive has been ill for a while, but now he's–– What?"

Yosano's eyes widen for a second. She shakes her head, lips tense. "I'm not saving a mafioso's life," she states. "What for? So dozens of people keep dying because of him?"

"That's not––" Chuuya grits his teeth. "He isn't––"

"You can't even make up an excuse," Yosano interrupts him. She can't keep sadness out of her tone. "He probably deserves what happens to him."

She watches as Chuuya's hands curl into fists, face straight even under his furious glare.

"Do you really think all we do is killing people?"

"Killing them, hurting them, making their lives miserable." Yosano looks down. "Nothing good, in any case."

"Then what about you?" She knows letting her guard down in front of an enemy is, at best, foolish, but she doesn't raise her gaze even when she hears Chuuya stand up. "Aren't you supposed to help people? Or only those that meet your standards?"

Yosano jolts up, driven by a wrath she hasn't felt in a long time. She doesn't mind the chair falls behind her.

"Who do you think you are?" she hisses, gritting her teeth, walking up to Chuuya in two strides. "You don't have any right to talk about morals when all you do is fucking people's lives up."

Handkerchief forgotten on the floor, blood keeps flowing from the wound in Chuuya's cheek. He hasn't complained about it yet; he doesn't even seem to feel any pain as red droplets drip from his chin, staining the collar of his white shirt.

"So you are the judge, then?" he spits. "You refuse to treat bad people. Does that include thieves? And scammers? How about rapists and bullies? Does it depend on how serious the crime was? Oh, wait, _you_ get to decide that."

Yosano grits her teeth. "Shut up."

"By the way." Chuuya's gaze turns suddenly taunting, eyes narrowing, "what about Dazai? I bet you would help him, and I bet you don't have the slightest idea of the things he has done."

It takes a lot for Yosano not to push him away. Drawing in a sharp breath she turns around, lifts the fallen chair and grabs the back with both hands, trying to stop them from trembling.

"Why is that guy so important?" she demands to know.

The silence between them seems to spread for hours.

"I just don't want him to die." He sounds hesitant, and Yosano doesn't need to look at him to know it's a lie. Or at least, it's not the whole answer. "So?"

Yosano turns around. She shouldn't feel so tired.

"You know I'm not supposed to help the Mafia, right?"

Chuuya looks down.

"Yeah."

Then, quietly:

"I'm sorry."

Light steps take Yosano back to Chuuya. She holds his chin with her fingers, carefully tilts his face up. There are thousands of conflicting feelings in that blue gaze, but his determination is clear.

"So am I."

Yosano still smells the faint scent of the woman she spent the evening with. It doesn't stop her from inching closer, from brushing Chuuya's lips once again. And she knows she will regret it, she knows she will need twice as many nights as she spent with Chuuya to stop thinking about this, but right now there is nothing she wishes more than this quiet moment.

"I'll think about it," she whispers as she draws back.

Chuuya's mouth hangs open for a moment; then he looks aside.

"Tomorrow I'll be busy, but the day after I'll come to hear you answer." He steps back and grabs his hat from the bed. "Well, good night."

Yosano only calls after him when she hears the entrance door opening. "I could clean your wound."

She doesn't know why the lack of an answer bothers her, but it does.

.

Did Chuuya say he trusted his subordinates to get rid of a minor organisation by themselves?

Well, he takes it back.

In their defence, the organisation had their gifted members very well hidden. Which isn't really an excuse, because not even two days after the attempt Mori thwarted he finds himself at their base again, hoping to finish this in time to see Yosano again.

He walks into a building that stands in a clearing of the forest through the main door, not bothering to hide. He doesn't know what abilities those people have, exactly, but Chuuya's gift is powerful enough to deal with them– and it's not like he's defenceless even if it isn't effective, anyway.

He orders his men to register the ground floor, while he climbs the stairs to explore the first one on his own. Nobody calls for him, so Chuuya assumes there is no one down there. He kicks every door open, hands in his pockets as he whistles between his teeth; part of him is disappointed those rats have locked themselves up in the highest floor. He might be in a rush, but he always enjoys a good fight. They are stimulating.

His frown deepens when it turns out the second floor is empty, too. Chuuya sincerely hopes they aren't in the third and last one; nobody can be that stupid, not even those third-rate thieves.

A smirk makes its way to his lips when he hears the unmistakable sound of a trigger being pulled. The bullet stops as soon as it touches his back, jingles as it falls on the floor. Chuuya turns around, excitement bubbling in his stomach as he dashes towards the door his attacker is hiding behind––

All trace of colour leaves his face.

Chuuya's gaze wanders over the astounding amount of explosive piled up in the room, fixes on the man that still holds a gun in one hand and a remote in the other, thumb hovering over the only button it has.

There is no time to stop him.

Chuuya can only yell for his subordinates to evacuate the building as the man detonates the bomb.

After that everything is blurry. The blast throws Chuuya back, with enough force to break a window; Chuuya's ears ring as he falls down through cold air, gaze fixed on a moon that drifts further and further away and a panicked voice in the back of his mind tells him that he's falling, that he has to do _something_ …

Perhaps it's instinct, then, what activates his ability to slow down his fall; it hurts when his back hits the ground, but way less than he supposes it should have. He doesn't move, too dazed to even try yet; instead he lays there, staring at the sky and wondering why everything is suddenly so silent all of a sudden until several faces block the view.

 _Enemies_.

Too calmly, Chuuya presses his palm to the ground. He closes his eyes for a second, slightly reassured when he listens to the cracks of the earth and those people's cries as they fall into the improvised craters.

He hasn't gone deaf, at least.

His limbs tremble as he sits up, slowly more aware of the pain running through his whole body. He wipes blood from his chin, realising the cut Yosano gave him last night has reopened. The memory makes him smile, for some reason.

Chuuya stumbles a bit when he stands up, but upon closer inspection he concludes his injures don't seem serious. He looks around, spots the crumbling building he was in only minutes ago.

A flash of panic shoots through his whole body, momentarily sharpening his senses as he remembers his men must be still there. Heart beating in his throat, Chuuya limps towards the building, shuddering even though he isn't cold.

They can't be dead.

 _They can't be dead_.

The only thought that hammers in his muddy mind is too loud, too overwhelming; Chuuya feels like throwing up.

Perhaps that's why he doesn't register the three shots tearing the night apart.

And that's definitely the reason he does nothing to stop them.

He only feels two impacts. The first one tears a scream off his throat, more surprised than pained, while the second one cuts it off along with his breathing as he falls again, down, down, down to a hungry darkness his ability can't protect him from.


	2. Chapter 2

_**2**_

.

There are one hundred twenty-six tiles covering the ceiling of the infirmary.

Yosano has counted them enough times to know it without counting them, but she still spends the afternoon doing it again. It's not like she has anything to do anyway; and focusing on that simple task is better than letting her mind wander down a path she shouldn't even think about.

But counting tiles isn't as interesting as Yosano would like; therefore, her thoughts drift, once again, towards Chuuya.

At this point she is not even surprised, only annoyed with herself. Ever since the night he snuck into her house to ask her a favour, he has found a way to invade her thoughts whenever Yosano lets her guard down; and she knew it would happen when she kissed him, but it looked more bearable back then, when the choice was between giving in or doing nothing when Chuuya was so close.

And, despite everything, she can't bring herself to regret it.

Not even after three days.

Yosano grabs her phone from the desk, but no call or text has arrived in the ten minutes she has managed to ignore the device's silent presence. She lets go of it with a groan, fixing her gaze on the ceiling once again.

She hasn't heard from Chuuya since the night she sliced his cheek.

He was supposed to burst into her house last night so she could give him an answer; but he didn't appear or called to explain why he would miss their meeting. Yosano's bad mood is partially due to the fact that she stayed up all night for absolutely nothing.

Maybe that man is already dead, Yosano thinks. Which would make her dilemma meaningless.

She can't bring herself to think about another possibility.

Because no matter how angry she still is with Chuuya for sneaking into her house; she knows that, out of the organisations they belong to, the Port Mafia is the least friendly one. While she only had to listen to Kunikida's reprimand for half an hour and pretend to give a damn about it, Chuuya would most likely face way more serious consequences.

Yosano's uneasiness only grows as hours pass; by the time they walk out of the Agency she turns down Ranpo's invitation to have a drink with everyone, determined to call that idiot of a mafioso to give him basic lessons about good manners if he doesn't show up tonight either.

Her heart leaps to her throat when she sees light coming from her living room window. She walks faster, now irritated because even if the Mafia doesn't have anything against trespassing she does value her privacy and she should have made it clear the other night.

But it's not Chuuya who awaits inside.

Yosano's hand automatically searches for the zip of her bag, but freezes when she recognises the intruder after a second glance.

Standing in the middle of the room, a woman looks at her with such a serious gaze Yosano forgets she's an enemy for a second. Clad in a kimono and a pink mantle, with red hair tied up with hairpins, the woman leans the tip of her closed parasol on the floor.

Yosano narrows her eyes. She remembers the woman that tried to kidnap Kyouka and attacked Atsushi too well for her liking.

"What are you doing in my house?" she demands to know.

"Asking you for a favour." Kouyou takes a step forward. "You must know the deal you made better than me; and we are running out of time– my dear friend is running out of time."

"I didn't make any deal." Yosano's fingers grip her bag tighter. "Much less with you."

Kouyou looks aside. "Sadly, the one you talked to is in no condition to come here."

All the air leaves Yosano's lips as something squeezes her lungs dry. Her eyes widen; she supposes she has paled.

"What happened to him?"

"He was injured during a mission. Therefore I'm in charge of this in his stead. He might be too hot headed and loyal for his own good, but I'm not letting him lose his position."

Yosano frowns. "Position?"

"Don't you know?" Kouyou looks at her again, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Mori will relegate him if our colleague dies. Which, as I assume you don't know, means more than just stopping being an Executive."

Yosano's jaw tightens, thoughts swirling in her mind as she tries to arrange the information she's receiving into something coherent. "And what makes you think I am going to agree to help him keep being a bigwig?"

She doesn't like Kouyou's smile. It's too wise, too understanding, even though she doesn't look much older than Yosano herself.

"You want to see Chuuya, don't you?" Yosano doesn't move. "Besides, you look too clever to start a fight against _Golden Demon_ and me right now."

"So even if I refuse, you'll take me with you by force," Yosano summarises.

"I'm glad you can read between the lines. Although you won't be harmed in any way as long as you do what you are told; you have my word." Kouyou tilts her head to the side. "Your answer?"

A grunt escapes Yosano's lips. "I don't really have an option, do I?"

.

Chuuya flies.

He flies, yet he drowns. His body is too light and too heavy all at once, he's floating and crushed under kilometres of darkness at the same time. Even breathing is painful, his feverish body shaking with a cough that leaves a metallic taste in his mouth.

He is laying on his side, so he can only see half the room when he manages to open his eyes; he can barely understand the sound that comes out of his lips, but he repeats it when nobody appears, voice scratching his sore throat as he tries to sit up and fails with a whimper.

He inhales sharply when he discerns the unmistakable sound of a door opening, hands curling into fists out of sheer impatience at the unbearably slow steps.

Chuuya blinks at the silhouette that sits down on the edge of the bed, frowns because he can't discern it but that white blouse doesn't look like something Kouyou would wear willingly.

"I'd say good evening, but you don't like that kind of jokes, do you?"

For a second, Chuuya forgets about his fever, about the pain stabbing his back, even about breathing.

"Yo––"

A gloved hand brushes his cheek, fingers tangling with his hair.

"Shhh."

Chuuya shakes his head weakly. He doesn't understand. "Why… Why are you here?"

His vision darkens as Yosano leans close, fingers curling as her hair brushes his jaw. He wishes he were able to touch her, to feel her caress without the black fabric in between. He tries to find his voice to apologise, because he is fairly sure he's late to their meeting; but Yosano is faster:

"It was this or getting in even more trouble," she whispers, words cool against Chuuya's burning skin. "Now shut up and let me do my job, Mafia Boy."

"But what… are you…" Chuuya insists, almost missing the sound of metal clinging against metal as Yosano draws back.

"This will hurt a little," comes the only warning.

Chuuya will wonder about Yosano's idea of _a little_ later. He can't exactly tell if he's being cut, hit or burnt; his conscience comes and goes, and he supposes he faints at some point.

When he opens his eyes again there is no pain, no cold, no fever; the change is so abrupt he feels even more tired than before. He frowns, lays on his back and brings his hand to his forehead. It's sticky with sweat, but nowhere as warm as before… whatever Yosano just did.

"Better, I hope." Chuuya turns his head, watches as Yosano cleans her tools without looking at him. "Now I only have to fix your friend and make dinner," she adds; she looks at Chuuya after putting everything inside the bag resting on her thighs. "So goodnight."

Chuuya doesn't really plan it. One second his hand is laying on his stomach and the next one it shoots forward, grabs Yosano's fingers as she tries to stand up. A confused gaze bores into Chuuya's drowsy one.

"Just a bit," he mumbles, noticing too late the pleading tone in his voice.

"I have to go. What if someone opens the door and gets the wrong idea?"

Chuuya wants to reply _what if they're not wrong_ , because he had two holes in his back up until two minutes ago and he is too sleepy to pretend that thought doesn't exist, but he only squeezes Yosano's gloved hand tighter.

She sighs. "I have a reputation, you know."

But Chuuya doesn't laugh; he shakes his head stubbornly, almost childishly, as if he could change the truth Yosano's words carry that way.

She only smiles, her expression unusually warm as she disentangles their hands with painful gentleness and lands a kiss on Chuuya's knuckles before laying his hand on the mattress.

"Sleep."

Chuuya rolls on his other side to watch Yosano walk out. When the door opens he catches a glimpse of Kouyou's figure, but he doesn't want to think about what all of this means yet.

He still owes Yosano an apology.

.

Yosano waves at Ranpo before crossing the street, humming as she heads back home.

Fortunately, there are no lights coming from her house. There haven't been for a week, since the day Kouyou escorted her to the Port Mafia headquarters to heal Chuuya and the poisoned Executive; yet Yosano frowns when she spots a person leaning on the doorframe, under the porch.

A grunt leaves her lips as she gets closer, easily recognising the stranger.

Chuuya raises his head when she stops before him and closes her umbrella with slightly trembling hands, apparently impervious to her glare.

"Good evening," he greets, taking his hat off with a smile.

Not bothering to reply, Yosano opens the door and throws Chuuya inside with an unceremonious kick on the hip. She doesn't even mind the only reason it's so easy is that he lets her.

"Have you lost your mind?" she hisses once she has walked into her house, closing the door behind her and switching the light on. She closes her hands into fists to conceal their tremor. "What if somebody sees you?"

Chuuya only shrugs.

"Believe it or not, I can pass unnoticed if I have to."

Yosano is tempted to give a snarky comeback. Instead she narrows her eyes, not taking them off Chuuya as she leaves the umbrella and steps out of her shoes. "What do you want now?"

"Nothing." Chuuya presses his back against the wall as Yosano walks further inside, looks to his right, as if looking for something next to his head. "Uh, well…"

"I'm not using my ability on any of you again," she states. "I don't care how many fighter ghosts the people you send have; I'll cut down every one of them."

"Oh, about that––" Chuuya starts.

"Besides, who gave you permission to sneak into my house whenever you want? And how did you find it?"

"Alright, alright. Listen." Chuuya raises his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Firstly, figuring out where someone lives is awfully easy; I wouldn't have lasted in the Mafia for a week if I couldn't even do that." He curls his thumb. "Secondly, I didn't ask Kouyou to come here–" His index stills half-flexed. "Uh, actually I haven't talked to her, or anyone, about you. And for your information I'm not here to ask you any favour."

Yosano crosses her arms, not entirely convinced. There are two metres between them and she doesn't know whether she wants to step closer or draw back. Her fingertips are warm and itchy; and they have been since Chuuya's trembling hand grabbed hers through a black glove, but now it's harder to ignore because the remedy is _right there_.

"Then?"

"I wanted to thank you." Chuuya looks down, red hair covering his eyes as he twirls his hat between his hands; maybe his fingers itch too. "For saving both Kobayashi-san and me; I know… well, Kouyou most likely didn't really give you another option, but still."

A sigh escapes Yosano's lips, heat creeping up her neck.

"It's my job, after all."

Chuuya shakes his head. "I suppose," he agrees, though.

For a whole minute, a heavy silence settles between them. Eventually Chuuya's fingers still on the brim of his hat, and he raises his head again after breathing in deeply, his gaze so determined Yosano wouldn't be able to look away even if she wanted.

"Also, I'm sorry."

Yosano's lips part in sincere surprise.

"What?"

Her attention drifts to Chuuya's lower lip, caught between his teeth.

"I didn't show up the other night."

Yosano raises an eyebrow.

"It's not like I like excuses, but being shot twice is a very convincing one."

"Yes, but–– it's not only about that. I got you in so much trouble and I'm sorry."

Now, Yosano should probably state that she agrees, that ever since the night she somehow ended up tangled in sheets and alcohol all Chuuya has done is giving her headaches and problems she would have never faced had she never met him again after the time they fought against each other in that abandoned tunnel.

But she can only shake her head and curl her fingers tighter.

"You are so overdramatic," she huffs. "I work for the Armed Detective Agency, Mafia Boy. I'm used to trouble. I won't break under a little pressure… And hey, you weren't fired, were you?"

Chuuya frowns. "How do you–– _Kouyou_ ," he guesses easily.

"It was sweet of you, making it look like you were simply worried about that guy," Yosano muses. She smiles softly. "It's alright. The deal was this wouldn't interfere in our jobs, wasn't it?"

She swallows when Chuuya takes a step towards her, too worried about her self-control to reprimand him for not taking his shoes off.

"I didn't expect you to still have it in mind," he admits.

Yosano can swear Chuuya tugs at a thread tied around her waist; it's the only explanation for how easily she gets closer, despite the alarm bells ringing in her head, arms falling limp at her sides.

 _Just once. The last time_.

She knows it's an excuse. She knows once she gives in there will be no turning back, because now they are not in a cold hotel room and Chuuya's presence will cling to every corner of her home like a well-adapted parasite.

She knows he'll only bring more trouble, regardless of his intentions.

But tonight she needs her conscience to shut up.

"When are you leaving?" she asks, perhaps harsher than she meant to.

Chuuya tilts his head to the side. "Why doesn't that sound sarcastic?"

He sounds genuinely confused and Yosano wants to both kiss him and flick his nose.

"Because it's not sarcasm," she replies, rolling her eyes. _He's so dull sometimes_.

Chuuya's eyes widen, lighten up like a sunny day as his mouth curves up into a smirk. He doesn't bother asking questions whose answer neither of them know; his hand reaches for Yosano's tie, brings her closer until their noses brush against each other.

"I don't have plans tonight," he whispers against her lips.

Yosano kisses him, hand resting against the back of his head to make sure he stays there.

Her only plan is not letting go of Chuuya until dawn.

.

Chuuya awakens to sunlight bathing an empty room.

He frowns, stretches as he gets up, blowing red locks off his face. Yawning, he drags his bare feet out of the bedroom, tentatively calling Yosano and hurrying up to the living room when she doesn't answer. The woman isn't there; puzzled, Chuuya looks in every other room, the creases between his eyebrows deepening upon realising Yosano isn't anywhere in the building.

Uneasiness creeps up his spine as he walks back to the bedroom and gathers his clothes from the chair. Chuuya stops, though, when he notices the sheet of paper on the desk:

 _I'm leaving earlier because someone felt like getting stabbed in the middle of the night._

 _Now, get the hell out of my house._

 _PS: Now you know how it feels being the one who wakes up alone._

Chuuya raises an eyebrow at the note, sighing in relief, and chuckles as he puts his clothes on, more calmly now that he knows Yosano left on her own volition. He walks to the bathroom to try to make his hair behave, with little success; Chuuya lets out a grunt, swearing he's never letting Yosano comb it again.

Then he freezes, shakes his head upon realising everything that simple thought entails and walks faster to the entrance door.

He can't not send Yosano a text, though. A simple question, which he hopes will bring a simple answer. Afterwards he shoves his phone back into his pocket, gets out of Yosano's house and walks to the Port Mafia headquarters, whistling through his teeth.

It's strange, Chuuya thinks, how utterly _content_ he feels. As much as he enjoyed having Yosano in his arms again, touching and kissing every patch of skin he was curious about, last night they both were too tired to take things further than a few mischievous caresses. Yet Chuuya can't erase the stupid grin that clings to his face just by recalling Yosano's laughter and the smooth feeling of her usually covered fingers.

 _This_ , he concludes, _is bad_.

And yet, when his phone buzzes and Chuuya reads Yosano's _as long as we're more careful than the last time we'll be alright_ , he can't bring himself to reply with an excuse to end this huge mistake once and for all.

So he clings to Yosano's optimism instead.

At least until Kouyou calls him to her office and Chuuya finds out he can't look at her in the eye.

"Chuuya," she calls. "Where were you last night?"

"Since when do you care about where I spend the night?" Chuuya replies, more defensive than he should.

"It's her, isn't it?" Chuuya's eyes widen; he raises his gaze, surprised. But now it's Kouyou who doesn't look at him. "I only hope you don't let her blind you."

Chuuya snorts. "I'm not stupid," he mumbles. He might like Yosano, but the Port Mafia is the closest thing to a family he can think of; of course he knows where his loyalty lays. "Anything else?"

Kouyou raises her head.

"I made sure nobody saw her when I brought her here; but be very careful with Mori-san."

His phone weighs more than ever inside his pocket as Chuuya nods and walks out of the office, leaning his back on the closed door. The lightness in him is no longer there; instead there are invisible hands clinging to his ankles, trying to drag him down.

Because deep down he has known since the first time he consciously ignored that Yosano is not, _cannot_ be like any other fling.

He knows about Kouyou.

He knows about Dazai.

He knows what happened to the people they cared about.

But Chuuya also knows he won't let anyone touch Yosano, he won't give them any reason to hurt her. Hell, she can defend herself; she would try to break his neck if she even suspected the kind of thought that just crossed Chuuya's mind.

As long as Mori doesn't know he cares, they will be alright.


End file.
